The Hunger Games
by tanithw
Summary: A retelling of The Hunger Games where muggles are the dominant force and are using a deadly game to keep the wizarding population under control. It's also a love story, MMHG.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: Well here's another new story from me. The idea for it occurred to one evening and kept me awake for several days straight. Like my HP & Pern crossover, it is a little weird and I admit that I do not like crossovers myself – but here I am writing my second. If you are not familiar with The Hunger Games in either book or movie format, please go and at least read the Wikipedia article before this.**

**You'll find more HP characters in here than Hunger Games ones with the exception of many of The Capitol people. I'm also trying to write in the first person narrative as in the books, which is something that I really am not used to – so please bear with me while I get used to it.**

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_From The Treaty of the Treason:_

_In penance for their uprising,_  
_each District shall offer up_  
_a wizard and witch between the ages of_  
_12 and 18 at a public "Reaping."_

_These Tributes shall be delivered_  
_to the custody of The Capitol._

_And then transferred to a public arena_  
_where they will Fight to the Death_  
_until a lone victor remains._

_Henceforth and forevermore_  
_this pageant shall be known as_  
_The Hunger Games._

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One of my ancestors was a witch but nobody quite remembers who it was. All I know is that because of that relative, my family was banished forever into District Twelve. It doesn't matter that we have never shown signs of magic since, no one makes it back to The Capitol once banished. I don't know why this comes to mind, today of all days. I shake my head, it's pointless protesting the injustice of our existence or the way that we are forced to live. No one cares, at least not anyone who matters.

Despite the season the splintery bare boards on the floor are still cold under my feet. Oftentimes it seems like I haven't been warm since my father died. I pull on my boots and the sturdy outfit that I wear when going into the woods, in fact it is what I wear most of the time. Spare clothes are a luxury that we can ill-afford. I slip my game bag over a shoulder and only then glance over at the other bed.

My sister Dawn is lying in bed snuggled up against our mother for comfort. Normally I would wake them to tell them where I am going but today I am loathe to disturb what looks to be peaceful sleep. I slip out of the ramshackle wooden house and move quietly into the silent, still streets. Normally at this time people would be leaving their families, going to work for a long day to earn a pittance but today is Reaping Day and work is cancelled, might as well enjoy the lie in.

It isn't long before I arrive at the fence that separates us from the forest; it is supposed to keep us safe from the wild animals that lurk within but in actuality is designed to keep people in rather than animals out. Just another way in which The Capitol tries to control this dangerous bunch of witches and wizards, most of whom have never even seen a wand let alone would know what to do with one. Rarely if ever is the fence electrified and so I have no compunction in slipping through the gap between the wires. A few running steps and I hit the safety of the trees.

If the Peacekeepers saw me entering the forest they would have no choice but to punish me; by whipping or even hanging me. In reality however they are some of my best customers, I have a family to feed and cannot afford the luxury of scruples. I grab my bow from its hiding place, it's one that my father made before he died and so I treasure it, despite the fact that I can make my own.

I might not be able to do magic but I am a great shot, no one can deny that. It's how I have kept my family alive since my father died and my mother retreated inside herself. I grew hard inside, I had to in order to survive. There are only two people in the world that I care about; my sister and a local boy a few years older than me, his name is Harry and he lost his father at the same time that I did. Like me he is almost solely responsible for his family, we bonded over that and have been friends for almost five years.

I am going to meet him now. It is our Reaping Day tradition, we spend the morning together hunting. Just in case we will not be around to do it tomorrow, the extra food or the money we could sell it for could help our families stave off starvation for a while at least. Movement ahead of me catches my eye and I pull an arrow from the quiver on my back.

The rabbit never knew what hit it. I pull a knife out of my belt and moving with the ease of long practice gut the animal and slip it into my bag. Harry and I normally meet at the ruins of an old building beside a lake, legend tells us that it is part of an old castle but in reality no one really knows for sure. All I know is that rabbits burrow under the stonework and it is a great place to shoot deer crossing the clearing.

Harry's sitting on some broken stonework when I arrive. He's toasting some bread that he must have traded for on a small smokeless fire. Bread, at least good bread is an expensive commodity to come by. I've some smoked meat in a food pouch that will add to his offering and afford us a good meal. "What did you trade for that?"

Harry grins without turning around, "A squirrel."

I place my bow ready on my knee as I sit down next to him. I'm not missing the chance of another deer if one walks into shot, Reaping Day or not there would be some way to sneak it back inside the fence. I hand him half of the meat as he shares the toast with me, years of being friends have made us aware of what the other is going to do before we do it.

There is another lame tradition that we have, as if on cue Harry turns to me, "Happy Hunger Games..."

"...And may the odds be _ever_ in your favour," I continue, mimicking the outrageous accent of Evvie Trinket the Capitol escort who announces the names at The Reaping. It's almost funny now but later it will be anything of the sort.

"Hermione, do you ever think about running away?"

"With Dawn and my mother? Heading off into the woods, hoping that The Capitol does not fly over in a hovercraft and cut our tongues out before killing us? Dragging your mother and brothers? Come on Harry be sensible."

"Well what if no one watched the games? It's only entertainment after all."

"Too much gets bet on it and The Capitol uses it as a way to control us." It's true. The poorer families like ours are the workers, in District Twelve we are coal miners but there are some families who call themselves pure-bloods. They have money, not a lot of it but they are the shopkeepers and store owners – descended from all-magical families they normally only mix with each other.

The fact that all children between twelve and eighteen have to be involved in The Reaping brings us together. But the fact is that poor kids are more likely to be picked, simply because they are poor. In exchange for extra rations we have the choice to have our names entered an additional time for each family member that we wish to feed. In my case I feed three people.

The names in the lot are cumulative; my name has been entered once every year since I turned twelve. Five times in total, the same as any sixteen year old in all of the Districts. But the untimely death of my father left me with no choice but to take the extra rations. Starvation is all too common here in twelve. Bodies are not an unusual sight, especially in a hard winter like the one in which my father died. And so every year my name is added to the bowl an additional four times.

This year Hermione Granger appears twenty times. The odds are not in my favour. Harry's situation is even worse. The rich pure-bloods will never be entered more than seven times. It breeds resentment and ensures that we will never band together and rebel like we did eighty years ago.

Here in the woods with Harry I can be myself. Everywhere else I worry about the cameras, about people reporting me for my critical views or worse that Dawn will hear me speak and repeat something in public. I couldn't bear it if I lost her. So in public I present a neutral face, I hold my tongue and just move about my business in a quietly rebellious way.

Once we finish our meal we go about the serious business of hunting. By the time that we head back towards the fence at noon we have a number of rabbits and several squirrels, some wild greens and berries. Some of it we will trade in the market, aiming for money and non-perishable items. Our deal means that we will split the remaining food and all profits in two before going home to our families.

My sister Dawn will be waiting for me. Today is the first time that her name has been entered and she is as safe as it gets but she will be worried. At twelve I was made of sterner stuff but she has always been sensitive. I'm right; as soon as the door closes behind me she comes running into my arms like a child half her age.

"I'm scared Hermione."

"Don't worry. Everything will be ok. Odds are in our favour remember?"

"Yep." Her tears dry up with a great effort. I give her another hug and head into the other room to bathe, knowing that my mother would have left me some water. The tradition of cleaning and dressing in fancy clothes is stupid to my mind, the first thing that they will do in The Capitol will be to throw out our clothes and dress us in something outrageous. Our garments are too old-fashioned and subdued for good television viewing.

Nevertheless I scrub my body, making sure that I will not be an embarrassment to my mother. Even the poorest children in Panem will be looking their best today. She has laid out a dress for me, one of her own carefully hoarded dresses from her youth. Jean Granger is a blood-traitor, born into a pure-blood family she married a poor coalminer. Her family never spoke to her again and did not even leave her their apothecary shop when they died, as far as I am concerned they were dead long before they actually were. They stood by and watched their grandchildren almost starve to death before I found a way to support us.

I pull on the blue garment that she must have worn to Reapings at my age and go into the other room. Dawn laughs at my pathetic attempt to put my hair up and pulls me into a chair so that she can put it up in an intricate braid. The only reason I allow it is that it is distracting her from what is coming this afternoon – that and I could never deny my sister anything.

My mother cleans my game and prepares a sparse lunch for us, knowing that neither of her children will be able to eat much. The threat of imminent death will do that to you. Before we know it the mine whistle sounds, normally it's a sound of joy – meaning that someone you loved has finished a shift and is returning shortly. Today it is a mandatory summons to the square in front of the Justice Building and is a sound that will have mothers weeping.

I tidy Dawn's clothes making sure that she looks her best. In fact she looks like a baby in her best skirt and blouse with two pigtails hanging over her shoulders. I hold onto one of her hands and lead her the short distance to the square. "Can't I stand with you?"

"You know the rules, we're ranked by ages. You need to stand with the little kids in the back. You'll be able to see us from there though, both Mum and me. You won't be alone." I stay with her until we get to the registration desks, she barely manages to contain the panic that is flowing through her veins. I've kept the realities of our world from her as best as I can but there is nothing that I can do to protect her from this. Once last squeeze of my hand tries to reassure her before I walk towards the table for sixteen year olds.

An anonymous low-level Capitol employee takes a blood sample to confirm my identity and ticks me off of a list. The woman barely even looks at me; I am a name, a number in a book. To citizens of The Capitol we scarcely exist but to provide them with goods or entertainment. She calls, "Next," before I have even left the folding table.

My eyes alternate between looking at the ominous facade of the Justice Building, built in Capitol fashion – deliberately imposing concrete. The red banners with the seal of Panem on them hang above the entrance, reminding us of who is in control here. This is the place where I collect our monthly food allowance in return for putting my name in more times. It is the symbol of everything that is wrong with our world.

And with my family, the trembling form of my sister lined up with other kids her age furthest away from the stage because they have less chance of being picked and crying, puking kids does not make great television when they are in the front of the shot. I'm also exchanging glances with Harry who is in the boys section, there are thousands of slips of paper in the bowls in front of us but between us we account for over sixty of them. The odds are not exactly in our favour.

By the time that the second whistle blows we are all in position and all but the youngest of us are silent. No one wants to cry, to be seen as weak could get anyone of us killed if we are unlucky enough to end up in the Games. Almost as if on cue a squad of peacekeepers appear, they line up between the boys and girls and in front of the makeshift stage. Moments later the door of the Justice Building opens.

Effie Trinket walks out of the building and waves gaily at us her captive, unwilling audience. As usual she is wearing some absurd suit of Capitol fashion, it's bright green and badly clashes with the pink wig that she is wearing. There is so much paint on her face that it is hard to know what she really looks like and the scary truth is that she tones it down when in District Twelve but even still we are not used to that much colour and so she looks ridiculous.

Her Capitol accent is even worse, highly pitched with the emphasis on the wrong sounds. It makes her words comical when they are anything but. "Welcome, Welcome, Welcome to the Seventy Fourth annual Hunger Games!"

She pauses expecting a response but none is forthcoming.

"But before we choose the lucky young man and lady I have a special treat for you... All the way from The Capitol."

This is where they show us the propaganda video, the one where they detail the crimes of our ancestors against The Capitol. Where wizarding kind fought to overthrow the muggle government, starving and poorly trained we could not stand against the might of the muggle war machine. Harry catches my eye and sends a smile my way, it's the same video that they show every year.

"_War, terrible war." _Pictures of skulls, explosions, snapped and burnt wands._ "Widows, orphans, a motherless child. This was the uprising that rocked our land. Thirteen districts rebelled against the country that fed them, loved them, protected them. Brother turned on brother until nothing remained." _Bodies shown wearing cloaks, ridiculous outfits that seem more Capitol than District but are still forbidden._ "And then came the peace, hard-fought, sorely-won. A people rose up from the ashes and a new era was born." _Pictures of endless crops, tall buildings that few of us will ever see.

"_But freedom has a cost, when the traitors were defeated, we swore as a nation that we would never know this treason again." _We are not taught the reason for the rebellion but my suspicion is that years of being caged in Districts and deprived of the most basic necessities made us fight back.

"_And so it was decreed that each year the various districts of Panem would offer up in tribute one young man and woman to fight to the death in a pageant of honour, courage and sacrifice. The lone victor bathed in riches would serve as a reminder of our generosity and our forgiveness. This is how we remember our past. This is how we safeguard our future."_

"I just love that." Effie breaths obviously believing the dogma that The Capitol spout at every opportunity. The Hunger Games are really an excuse to kill twenty three young people and ruin a twenty fourth, for the entertainment of muggles and to remind us who has the power.

"Now it's time to find out who the lucky tributes are from District Twelve." She crosses to one of the huge glass globes on the stage. "As usual, ladies first." My heart begins to pound as she reaches in for a folded slip. My name is in there twenty times, it could be me. Those four words begin to spin around in my head, over and over again as I watch her gloved hand pull a slip out.

She opens the seal and brings it closer to her face.

It could be me.

Please don't let it be me.

It isn't.

The name that sounds strangely twisted when uttered from her lips is... Dawn Granger.

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**A.N. I borrowed the character of Dawn from Tigertales, with her kind permission**


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors Note: Thank you all for the reviews. I really appreciate them. This is the last preliminary chapter and while we will more or less follow the basic THG plot, from there we start adding more HP stuff, including HG/MM yumminess. Enjoy.**

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I always thought that it was a myth or an exaggeration. You hear people say it all of the time. But it happened to me, my heart literally stopped. Breath rushed from my lungs and I think that I almost fell. My knees have never felt this weak. Blackness creeps into the edges of my vision.

My sister...

My twelve year old sister has been chosen. She has absolutely no chance of survival whatsoever, a twelve year old has never won the games. In less than a week she will be dead and I will have to watch it on live TV, over and over and over again for years to come. More than that she is my little sister, she means everything to me. Dawn and her needs kept me alive, taught me to survive when we were starving.

I can hear shuffling feet as people move out of her way. There is an upset mumbling coming from the crowd. Everyone hates when a twelve year old is chosen. I never even stopped to worry about Dawn today, her name was only in once. A single slip of folded paper amongst thousands of others. This is something from which I cannot save her.

My body screams for oxygen and I draw a shaky breath that is more sob than inhalation. How can this have happened? It must be a mistake. But it isn't. The eerie quiet in the square enables me to hear her footsteps moving slowly and stiffly towards the stage. Sweet, kind and loving Dawn knows that she is walking towards her death.

It seems like years before I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and Dawn slowly walks past me. Her hands are clenched tightly in the fabric of her skirt and I can see her tremble from here. She never even looks in my direction, even now Dawn is trying to make things easier for me. It is that final act of kindness that breaks my paralysis.

I don't have to elbow the crowd out of the way. As soon as they see me moving they clear a path. I'm almost tripping over in my eagerness to reach my sister. Everyone and everything is a blur but her. Dawn's cheek is pale, one of her pigtails has come loose and is hanging over her face. The first time I try to scream her name nothing comes out.

The second time I can hear the hysteria in my own voice and it rises with each repetition. "Dawn, Dawn." Two Peacekeepers grab me and I struggle, "No, get off me!" The pitch in my voice goes up again when my sister turns to face me, "I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!"

The guards release me and I rush to wrap my arms around Dawn. I hold her tightly letting my panic recede and terror take its place. She's sobbing loudly; relieved but knowing that I have just sacrificed everything to save her. "Dawn, go to Mum now!"

"No!" She wails and fights with me. It's the last thing that I need because right now I am fighting the overwhelming urge to cry. Crying right now could get me killed in the future, I know that my voice is harsh as I repeat my command. But she still clings to me.

I'm about to cry and it's the worst thing that I could do. And then someone comes to my rescue; Harry has stepped from the ranks of the boys and picks her up, strong arms hold her tightly. I meet his green eyes with my chocolate gaze, "Shoot straight Hermione."

I turn and at Evvie's prompting mount the few stairs up to the stage. She addressed the crowd, "Well, well, District Twelve's very first tribute!"

She isn't joking. In our population of half-starving children the word tribute has become synonymous with corpse. Why would anyone from here volunteer but to save someone that they loved? The truth is though that without Dawn I would have nothing to live for.

"What's your name dear?"

"Hermione Granger." I don't recognise my own voice, it's barely even a whisper.

"I bet that was your sister just then wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Don't want her stealing all the glory?"

Who the hell does this woman think that she is?

"A round of applause please for our very first volunteer Hermione Granger." No one but her applauds, it is the only show of defiance that we can make. The silence speaks louder than any words. I watch as they risk censure to give me the only tribute that they can. A sob is rising up in my throat.

My saviour comes from the most unlikely source. Minerva McGonagall, District Twelve's mentor unsteadily gets out of her chair and walks over towards the podium, almost knocking Evvie aside in her haste. She is drunk, she always is on Reaping Day. All cameras turn to face her and it gives me the moment that I desperately need to compose myself. When she speaks her voice is slurred, "I like her... She has... spunk..."

With that she lumbers back towards her seat, 'accidentally' bumping into the nearest peacekeeper. The white uniformed man falls off of the stage much to the laughter of the gathered crowd. Minerva seems bemused by her actions but her green eyes meet mine and she gives a subtle wink. Evidentially she is not as drunk as she seems.

Hanging onto her now lopsided wig Evvie steps up to the microphone, "And now for the boys." Her movements seem faster now that my heart isn't pounding. I pray for a moment that Harry is not the one picked, we made a deal that if either of us was selected we would help to support the others family. If his name comes out of the bowl, our families are both doomed.

"Ronald Weasley."

Oh Merlin, not him. I know him but have never uttered a word to the redheaded pure-blood. My eyes find him. His freckled face has paled with shock and fear, it's obvious by the way that he swallows that he is terrified. Blue eyes frantically search the crowd for his older brothers or even his younger sister – hoping that someone will come forth and save him. The wind whistles through the square. None of them will come forward, family devotion on Reaping Day only goes so far.

"Come on up."

He manages to swallow his fear long enough to start moving. Meanwhile my mind drifts back to a time almost five years ago. My father had just died, my mother had withdrawn into herself and we were slowly starving. I held it together for as long as I could but eventually we ran out of money, food and things to sell. One cold, wet evening I was returning from trying to sell some old scraps of cloth when I collapsed in the middle of the road behind the bakery owned by the Weasley family.

_I lay on the sodden ground, too weak to even cry. There was nothing that I could do to save my family, that thought had finally made itself known to me and the reality of it was crushing. Earlier in the day I had searched through the bins, looking for scraps of food but finding nothing. Eventually I was chased away by the greengrocer with nothing for my troubles._

_I never knew how long I had lain in the road that night, I was praying for any solution – even an end to our suffering, while the rain seeped into my clothing and chilled my skin. Shouting from the bakery caught my attention but could not hold it for long. It was something about being careless and burning bread. I would have mumbled something about them at least having bread to burn but even breathing hurt._

_I opened my eyes to see the youngest redheaded boy tearing chunks off of blackened bread and throwing it to the pigs in a pen by the roadside. I tore my eyes away because the sight was making me even hungrier if that were at all possible. It was then that two large loaves landed in front of me. The boy scarcely glanced in my direction before fleeing back into the bakery._

Did he mean to throw them to me? He must have but people do not give food away, not around here at least. I glanced up at the windows and grab the bread. I wasn't strong enough to run home but I wanted to. That night we ate an entire loaf before I made us stop, it restored my strength only a little but kick-started my determination. **That** I owe to the Weasley boy.

I catch a glimpse of his red hair as he mounts the stairs and comes to stand beside me. We shake hands while I try to avoid eye contact. The rest of my history with him is not as nice but I don't want to have to murder him – hopefully one of the other twenty two tributes will kill him before I have to face that choice.

When all of the speeches are over and done with we are herded into the Justice Building under armed guard. As though we would try to escape, not only would our families be punished but the whole of Panem knows our faces – there really is nowhere to run.

Ron and I are separated and sent to separate rooms, we will have an opportunity to say goodbye to our loved ones. A few scant minutes that will be our last chance to speak to them for weeks... or ever. In all likelihood I will never see them again.

Dawn rushes into my arms as soon as she is through the door and almost immediately bursts into tears. "Promise me that you'll come home. That you'll win!"

I inhale, fighting my own tears because in only a few minutes I will back in front of the cameras and I can't afford to cry right now. "I promise that I will try my best." It would be wrong to give Dawn false hope. I go straight into an explanation about what I need both of them to do in order to survive, my mother needs to remain strong and not shut herself off again. "Harry will bring you game." I've been preparing for this for the last few years, setting up different ways for them to survive. There is a pen of half-tame boar just outside the fence that they can live off and sell, I have stored a load of herbs for my mother to make her medicines.

"There is enough food stored to help you through the winter. Dawn you will not take food from them! It's not worth putting your name in anymore than it has to be." With that I turn to my mother, she recoils from the hardness in my eyes – we both know that I have never forgiven her. "Take care of her. You cannot back away from life this time. She will need you to survive." My brown eyes bore into her blue ones and I watch tears begin to drip down her face.

"I will."

"Don't cry." I pull them both into a tight hug. "We all need to stay strong." My mother nods fighting her emotions, she hasn't had as much practice as I have but she still manages fairly well. All too soon the Peacekeepers are back and take them away. I stare at the door for a few minutes after they leave, hoping that my preparations will be sufficient and that they can survive without me.

The door opens again and Harry rather than an armed guard slips inside. His green eyes are bright with emotion as he hugs me. "Hermione you are one of the most resilient people I know. You have survival skills and you can hunt, plus you've read practically every book in the district."

"Yeah, animals."

"When it gets down to it, there isn't that much difference. I know that you would never want to hurt anyone but you'd do anything for family."

I knew the truth in his statement the moment that he uttered it. I don't want to kill but I will if it means coming back to Dawn and my mother alive. Much as I may hate this situation I have no choice.

"Show them what you are made of."

"What, hit the judges with a book? That'll impress them."

"Show them your aim. You're a great shot, not only with a bow but with a slingshot too. Don't sell yourself short. I will take care of Dawn and your mother as best I can, all you have to worry about is coming back to them."


	3. Chapter 3

Stepping onto the train was like stepping into another world, the cacophony of the crowd behind shut off the moment that the door closed. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling and for the first time in my life I really understood the meaning of the word ostentatious. The first oblong car is full of food, more than I have ever seen in my life but little of it I even recognise. It is piled on silver platters on the table and covers every surface in the room.

Evvie leads us deeper into the train, she points to the left, "This is your room Hermione. Ron, yours is further down on the right. Why don't you both freshen up for dinner? I will go and find Minerva, she's probably in the bar car." That last part was uttered quietly, obviously not meant for our ears.

It's a relief to be on my own again, I can wipe the carefully blank look from my face. The bed looks so inviting and I lay down for a few minutes, trying to sort out what I am feeling. Truthfully I'm terrified of what is to come, worried about my family but relieved that I am the one facing the games and not Dawn, for a moment I don't even add angry to my mental list. I've been angry for so long; at my mother, at the system that keeps us downtrodden and at the world in general. It wasn't always that way, before my father died I was a very different person.

Eventually I rummage through the drawers and cupboards, finding a blouse and trousers that look as though they will fit me – dark green isn't a colour that I have ever worn but it reminds me of the forest outside of District Twelve. I tie my hair into a simple braid and head back out of the room.

"Aaaah Hermione, glad that you could join us." Evvie is just as effervescent in real-life as she is on television. She is incredibly fake in appearance and mannerism but I can sense an underlying warmth in her personality. She treats Ron and I like we were puppies belonging to someone else. Although she keeps glaring at him throughout dinner.

Ron Weasley is swallowing food so fast that you might think that he was starving. His family are among the poorest of the pure-bloods in town true but he should not be inhaling his meal like it will be his last. I lean over and spoon a portion of meat in gravy onto my plate and follow it with vegetables and mashed potato. The meat has an unfamiliar flavour, it must be one of those farm reared meats that we have never been able to afford.

I try to avoid the rich dishes that are on the table, those that are swimming in butter or cream sauce – it's not something that I am used to eating and it might make me sick. Once my initial hunger is sated I allow my eyes to travel around the room, Evvie is chattering ninety to the dozen but it doesn't appear that any of us are actually listening to her drivel about parties and the celebrations going on in the Capitol. Ron is still devouring as much as he can.

Minerva McGonagall is morosely sat in an armchair facing the darkness behind the window, she is not eating and despite the glass of alcohol in her hand – she is not drinking either. I know that she hates this. Our District is small and has only boasted two winners in seventy-four years, she is the only one alive and as a result should be something of a celebrity. However her manner puts off many would-be sycophants, she is brusque, can be rather sarcastic and does not suffer fools gladly.

A moment passes and she looks up into my eyes. A sardonic smile crosses her face before she turns her gaze back towards the blank glass. I have spoken to Minerva on a number of occasions over the years, mostly with regards to books – she spends most of her money collecting old volumes. I occasionally come across people selling ones that cannot be traded openly and for a fee I take them to her.

Most people think that she is an alcoholic and while yes she does drink heavily, especially just before the Games, she is fairly sober whenever I see her. From what I understand you build up a tolerance with time. She's an attractive woman barely into her fourth decade but her intense emerald eyes tell of a bone deep weariness, Minerva is a person who has seen too much and unlike her compatriots from wealthier or luckier districts she never gets even a year off – every single year she is forced to send two kids to their deaths and it is slowly killing her.

Finally Ron stops eating and servers rush to clear the table of all but the essentials. I'm toying with a piece of bread, breaking off small parts with my fingers. It gives me something to do besides stare at people and worry. "Are you going to help us Minerva?" I'm surprised that he is the first to ask the question.

Our mentor's only response is to lift her glass to her lips. Almost an eternity passes before she speaks. "The best advice I can give you is to embrace the almost certainty of your impending deaths." My initial response would be to snicker but only a moment later I want to cry, she is not speaking anything but the truth.

Ron lashes out at her, his hand catching the glass in hers – it flies across the room and shatters. Before the bakers son has even had time to blink, he is facefirst against the wall, slammed against it with some force and restrained. "You spilled my drink."

There is a knife by my placemat. I lift it and spin the delicate silverware on my palm for a moment, learning its weight and balance. A simple overhand flick propels it forward and it embeds itself in the panelling next to Minerva's head. I'm not trying to stop her because I really think that the Weasley boy needs to learn some respect but deep down I think that I wanted her to notice me.

She turns around and again I am treated to that slow knowing smile. "Have I got myself a fighter this year sweetheart?" It's not an endearment, it's the way that she has always addressed me – there's a hard sardonic edge to the word, like she is hinting at something that I don't know. With effort she tugs the knife from the wall and tosses it on the table in front of me.

I return the intense eye contact and for a moment the room fades and all I can see is that emerald gaze. Hard and demanding. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"So will I." Ron chirps from behind her.

"Good. You both be here early in the morning. We will go over our plans for the day." With that she sweeps imperiously out of the room, an exit not damaged by the slight unsteadiness in her step – something that my hunters experience shows me immediately. I watch her go, somehow not able to tear my gaze from the closed door.

"I'm going to bed." I'm not tired but it's the first thing that I can think of to say. My thoughts and emotions are in a whirlwind and I want nothing more than to be alone. Evvie left while I was distracted leaving Ron and I alone but for the servers.

"Hermione?"

"Hmmm?"

"Have you met her... Minerva before?"

"Yes, a few times." I leave the room without further comment. The first time I met Minerva McGonagall it was perhaps a month after my father's death. Our food was running out and I took her a book belonging to my father. I was beyond nervous, she was so taciturn that few people ever spoke to her. I knocked on the back door clutching the book in my hands, I'd heard that she bought them and selling the wrong book to anyone else could get you whipped by the Peacekeepers – I had no idea which titles were banned, so I had no choice on who I sold it to.

The door was wrenched open after a few minutes with a muffled curse. Minerva was standing there, she looked pale and withdrawn. "What?"

I held out the book, "I want to sell it."

"I can see that!" Her eyes flicked from the book to my too big clothes and emaciated frame.

"Please."

"Give me just a minute to wake up sweetheart." Her voice is harsh and a little condescending but soon softens, "You're John Grangers daughter?"

"Yes."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a mess of coinage, she hands me a couple of silver coins. "Final offer, take it or leave it." I took the money and scarpered home with alacrity. I didn't realise until later that the book I had sold her had been completely worthless. She probably used it as expensive fire starting material.

Not all of our trades were that easy, Minerva drove a hard bargain most of the time but I suspect that she enjoyed our exchanges. So did I truth be told, apart from Harry she was one of the few people I ever talked to despite the fact that months could pass between our meetings.

I throw my clothes on the floor and find a simple silk nightgown to slip on before I slide into bed. This is the last opportunity I will have to cry, I don't have to see anyone until the morning and there won't be any camera's until the afternoon. Everything whirls around and around in my head but the tears won't come.

When I wake up it's not even sunrise. I've probably managed two hours of broken sleep. A glance out of the window tells me that it's probably not even three in the morning. I'm not going to be able to sleep any more tonight, so I may as well get up. I grab a fur wrap from the bed, it's doubtful that anyone will be up but even so I want to be fairly decent.

I step out of the room and am immediately glad of the fur wrap, a draught is blowing down the corridor and it's pretty chilly. Walking into the dining car I find a sleepy looking server standing there, he sketches a bow in my direction and gestures, I think he wants to know if I need anything. I ask for a mug of coffee to cover my surprise. Apparently the rumours that the Capitol use servants who cannot speak are true.

A very short time passes and I have a mug of coffee in my hand. It is something my mother has spoken of fondly but I have never tasted. I smell the black liquid curiously, it's rich but bitter scented. The server hands me a bowl filled with a white powder and mimes for me to add some to the liquid. It instantly changes the smell to something similar but a great deal sweeter and it makes my mouth water. "Thank you."

I go back towards my bedroom but before I can get there I glance down the drafty corridor. The door at the end is ajar and I can see a sliver of moonlight through the gap. It gives a faint squeak as I slide it open. Another step takes me out onto a small metal platform on the back of the train. A glance to the side tells me that I am no longer alone.

Minerva is sitting on the mesh with her slender trouser clad legs in front of her. I can't help the way that my eyes trace over her body. Damn that woman has some fine lines. My ogling is subtle or at least I think it is until a knowing smirk crosses thin lips and it's obvious that I'm wrong. "If you want to stare at me like that Miss Granger, I think that you will have to buy me a drink first."

"Haven't you had enough?" I ignore the point of her conversation and instead go to the part that is going to adversely affect my chances of survival.

"No. Never enough to stop the dreams."

I tear my eyes away from the broken woman and glance at the platform, it's small not intended to sit on. There is no railing and for a moment I have no idea what is keeping us from falling off and then I remember the rumours of invisible barriers that muggles create with technology that can keep people in. "Force shield?"

"Indeed."

I sit down next to my mentor and took a sip of the scalding liquid, it's horrible but strangely leaves me wanting more, craving another taste. Somewhat like the woman beside me; her alcohol induced escapism repels me but there is something about her that captivates my interest and always has. Especially when she's looking at me with those piercing emerald eyes, like she is now.

I'm glad of the wrap around me, we're protected from the worst of the wind caused by the speed that we are going but it's still cold.

"Can you change your nature and become a killer sweetheart?"

I hesitate but it's something I have thought about a lot in the last day. "I... If I have to."

"I need you to be able to hold in your emotions. Killing is not... pleasant and you cannot afford to break down in the arena."

"I can." For my family, for Harry and for you. I bite off the rest of my sentence and let it die unsaid. This woman has been through so much and there is a part of me that wants to save her more pain. "Are you telling Ron the same thing?"

"No, Mr Weasley does not have quite the same moral values as you."

"He doesn't have a chance."

"Not a one and he knows it."

"Do I?"

Minerva smirked. "Yes and I don't want to see you waste that chance."

"I can do it."

She shifts her position and looks at me strangely. "Have you ever wondered how you can do what you do?"

"What?" What the hell is she talking about?

"You went into the woods as an untrained... child and yet not only can you support your family through hunting. You have also managed to avoid the worst of the creatures in there. It is not called the Forbidden Forest for no reason and you somehow escape unscathed. Have you any idea how many adult men do not return from its depths and how little success hunters have?"

"I just thought that I was lucky, that and I practice shooting a lot."

"It's the magic that flows through your veins."

I snicker, "Don't be silly. My family has not turned up a measurable amount of magic in generations." Normally I would look around for hidden cameras before discussing anything like that but she undoubtedly has already done it.

"Until you. Your abilities are raw and untrained but I can feel the power within you." What Minerva is saying is preposterous but something within me responds to it and it feels like she is telling the truth. "Give me your hand."

Her fingers are like ice on my skin but nevertheless I feel a sudden rush of heat moving up my arm. After a moment a blue light forms around her fingers before it twists around my own like a serpent. Light erupts from within my skin with a tingle but unlike hers it is green. Our magics join and turn turquoise. It's the most intimate thing that I have ever experienced and I can sense that she feels it too.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"You already knew on some level and I'm not in the business of opening myself up to an execution."

I nod this time, everything that she is saying makes perfect sense. "I... er... read some of those books that I sold to you."

"I thought as much. You cradled them in your arms as though you knew what they meant."

"And?"

Minerva gives a sigh and drops my hand, I miss the contact until I feel her fingers brush against my thigh. "They are the last remaining part of our lost society and the few books left will be invaluable in the future."

"The future?"

"Live through the next fortnight sweetheart and maybe I'll fill you in."

I return the smirk that she gives me. "So how do I win?"

"Simple, do everything that I tell you."

"And you'll stop drinking?"

"I'll cut back."

"Then I'm all yours." I don't know why I used that particular phrase or why it came out as a husky purr.

"I may hold you to that."

Our eyes meet and lock, something intense passing between us in that stare. It's nothing that I can name but it's powerful beyond belief and I cannot tear my eyes away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: 11 days until I fly back to the USA, not sure if you'll get an update before then or not.**

* * *

I went back to bed after speaking with Minerva, suddenly exhausted. There was something about talking to her that always left me with more questions than answers. Her words whirled around in my head, mixing with the fears I had about the games, leaving me dreaming about fighting with magic while being chased around by the snake from the Capitol seal.

It left me in a bad mood. One that wasn't helped by the leering that the Weasley boy subjected me to when I left the comparative safety of my room. My feet led me to the dining car and I sat down opposite the obviously hung over form of Minerva McGonagall. "Mornin' sweetheart? Hope you aren't going to chuck the silverware at me again."

There is no acknowledgement of what we spoke about this morning, no hint that we had even spoken. "I'll try to contain myself." Emerald eyes twinkle in response to my sarcastic comeback; she is a woman who enjoys a good sparring session, even verbally.

"Sharp wit, decent throwing arm and a pretty face, don't tell me that you can sing too? We might make a decent tribute of you yet."

My lip twitches as I hold in my grin. "I have many skills but there's no reason to reveal them all at once."

"Colour me intrigued."

The banter continues even after Evvie and Ron join us, they look bemused for a moment but seem to shrug it off. At least we aren't fighting. I tuck into my meal hungrily; rarely will I have so much heavy food in a short space of time. I stick again to the less greasy protein filled items that we are served, in only a few more days I will be living off of my reserves and my skills.

I shoot Minerva a pointed glance when she thins tomato juice with a clear liquid, to which she only smirks. It surprises me when she speaks clearly and decisively in a no-nonsense tone. "Today is a big day. You will not like what the stylists do to you but you have no choice and unless you fancy ending up naked and covered in coal dust – like last years tributes, I suggest you just grit your teeth and bear it."

"Who are our stylists?" Ron is talking through a mouthful of food again, it seems to be a habit of his.

"Someone new, unfortunately I don't know who. Evvie might have a better idea. She keeps abreast of developments."

"I don't drunkenly sleep through meetings you mean." Minerva just smirks. I really don't know if I should laugh or cry, I just let my own smirk play on my face. "I believe that Hermione's is a newcomer called Kingsley and Ron will have a woman named Tonks. They are unknown but both are young to have such a position so you can rest assured that they must be talented."

"So talented that they get given the poorest and least popular district?" My comment is snide but provokes a genuine smile from across the table. Minerva's customary smirk has been replaced by something much more genuine and her emerald gaze washes over my face appraisingly.

Evvie mutters something that I cannot quite hear over Ronald's masticating but I don't ask her to repeat it, somehow I don't feel that it is complementary. I start to drink more of the coffee but my eyes keep flickering up to meet Minerva's, I don't know why I am staring but only that I am. She seems like the only other sane person in the room.

Minerva eats a little porridge and begins to speak again. "Long term survival in the games is down to two things. Survival skills." She pauses and grimaces, "But more importantly it is about sponsors. When you are dying of thirst or freezing, getting a bottle of water or a pack of matches can save your life. And the only way to get sponsors is to be popular. Hermione is right, our district is the last one to get anything – so you both need to stand out."

She takes another sip of 'juice' before continuing, "To have a chance the two of you need to make an impression wherever you go and whatever you do. It isn't enough to be pretty, you need to show the cameras what you showed me last night. I will work with you both and do my best to ensure that you survive as long as possible but I need your help. Can I rely on you?"

Ron grunts an acknowledgement. I meet her eyes for a long moment before nodding mutely, never have I seen her speak with so much passion and it is something truly breathtaking to behold. There is no way that I could speak even if I wanted to. "No smart arsed comments?"

Again I silently shake my head. What is it about this woman that affects me so?

* * *

"We'll be there in an hour, make sure that you wave to the cameras and the people. It is them who will be betting on you, supporting you and ultimately sponsoring you. Make an impression, I cannot stress that enough!" Minerva stands, her clothing showing just how thin she is. She might not have gone to bed last night but she has found the time to change into a grey suit that suits her colouring and would complement her figure – if she wasn't so damn thin. For a moment I find myself wanting to win – not just to stay alive or for my family but so that I could take some of the pressure off of her. "Evvie, take Ronald and choose an outfit. Hermione come with me."

I catch Evvie raising perfectly sculpted eyebrows in surprise, obviously she thought that Minerva would be better dressing him rather than me. I'm not disappointed though. My mentor might be sarcastic and blunt to the point of rudeness but I much prefer her to our escort. We walk into my bedroom in silence, I wait until the door closes before speaking. "Why do I need to change, as I recall they only see us through the window of the train?"

"It's an important glimpse. Yesterday they saw a scared, upset girl on camera from a poor district, protecting her sister. You have already made an impression, it's something that we need to keep up." She reaches out and touches my hip, "Trust me?"

I nod.

"Strip down to your underwear."

"What?"

"Just do it. I need to see what I am working with. I'm not a stylist but I don't think that Ms Trinket would survive an encounter with you."

There is no arguing with her logic and I begin to unbutton my blouse, "Did you mean what you said about sponsors?"

"Yes they are the key." She busies herself rummaging through the wardrobe and I change faster without her gaze on me.

All too soon she is turning around and I blush – I feel vulnerable, mostly naked with her looking at me. She asks me to turn around and I feel her burning gaze on my flushed skin. A hand brushes my bare shoulder, "Are you alright?"

There's a lump in my throat that makes it hard to speak. "Yes." It's scarcely a whisper but she hears and takes her hand from my skin. I find myself missing the touch instantly and intensely. "What... uh... What do you think...? I?"

"Very nice."

I was asking what she thought I should wear but upon hearing her words, the rest of the sentence dries up in my throat and I cannot speak. I turn around and face her. Minerva smiles warmly at whatever is on my face before turning back to the clothes. I walk over and open the window, somehow the temperature in the room has risen sharply and I need to cool down.

"Here, try these on." She's suddenly very close again and holding out a pair of dark charcoal grey trousers.

"I thought that I would be in dresses." My distaste at the prospect is evident in my voice.

"You will be soon enough but I want them to get a glimpse of the real you. They've seen you in poor district clothes that were obviously not yours. Soon they will see you in uniform or outfits picked by your stylist. This is the last chance for you to put your stamp on it."

"Your stamp."

Minerva laughs, "I thought you were going to trust me."

Wordlessly I take the trousers and pull them on. They are tight around my shapely hips and thighs, highlighting my natural curves and the slender muscles with which my lifestyle has endowed me. At the knee they become looser. Minerva is obviously a pretty good judge of women's sizes because they fit me like they were designed to.

The next thing she hands me is a pair of black boots, they have a much higher heel than I am used to but make me look taller, as well as making the muscles in my calves and thighs tighten. It's not me but at least she isn't putting me into a dress. I see her eyes flicker over my body as I bend over to fasten the laces but before I can call her on it, she turns away again.

"Now this." It's some form of high necked tunic, made from a shiny black fabric. Dark red patterns are embroidered on it in an almost oriental way. Minerva helps me fasten the unfamiliar buttons, with shaking fingers. She leaves the top two open, so that they hint at my cleavage. The sleeves are short, revealing my tanned defined arms. A few scars are highlighted by the sun streaming through the window.

She steps back and looks me over. "Have a look in the mirror." I hear her clattering around in the drawer but I cannot take my eyes off of my reflection. I look good, she was completely right about the outfit. I look elegant but dangerous. A hand firmly but gently wraps around my bicep and Minerva leads me back over to the bed.

Despite the open window I feel hotter and hotter the closer that we get to the bed. My focus is torn between the smirk on her face and the rapid rise and fall of her chest – she is breathing slightly faster than normal herself. "Relax sweetheart." The words are quietly issued but I can feel her breath on my ear and it makes me shiver.

A moment later I am sitting on the bed. Minerva kneels down next to me and takes my left arm again. Her grip is firm but strangely soft and gentle, apart from her I cannot remember the last time that I passively let someone other than my family or Harry touch me. She rubs some cream into my arm, partially masking the scars. "They will want to see the scars, they give you an element of danger but..."

"They aren't beautiful enough." I finish the sentence for her, both of us laughing at the stupidity of the Capitol citizens. She mmmm's agreement before opening a small box filled with strange powders. Minerva rises up higher on her knees and attends to a scar on my forehead in the same manner. She leans in closer and begins to apply some form of cosmetic lightly to my face, there's a line between her eyebrows as she concentrates.

"Close your eyes." I obey even though I feel lightheaded. She comes in closer still and gently brushes a powder across my eyelids. "Done." It's a husky whisper and I feel her breath on my face, it makes me shiver. When I open my eyes she is too close, heart stoppingly close. My gaze flickers down to her lips and I find myself moving closer. What would have happened I cannot say because there is a knock on the door.

Minerva leans back on her haunches and stuffs her hands in the pockets of her jacket. She looks just like a child caught stealing sweet cakes. "Yeah?"

Evvie pokes her head around the doorway, "I wanted to see how you girls were getting on." The door opens wider and she openly gapes at me. "Hermione you look beautiful. Obviously Minerva has a masterful touch."

I blush fiercely, not because of what she said but because of what she interrupted. I exhale sharply and try to control myself. "Shall we all go into the dining room?" Evvie continues, oblivious to the tension in the room. I nod in response, Minerva holds the door for me and I follow the Capitol escort into the corridor.

Minerva catches the hem of my tunic shirt before I walk past, "That's exactly what you needed sweetheart... A little colour in your cheeks." I blush even harder and she chuckles before pushing me deeper into the corridor.

Ron is dressed in a blue suit and already standing at the floor length window in the dining room. I'm reluctant to go near him because of our past. Minerva seems to sense this because she follows me over to the glass. "In about two minutes you are going to see something incredible."

As always she is right. The track curves around a man-made lake. The water is an intense blue, reflecting the huge mountains on the other side of it. Only moments later we are heading straight towards them. The view is magical from this angle but all too soon it cuts off into blackness as we enter a tunnel. The lights in the train are off and for several seconds we are left in darkness. I find myself not caring as a feminine hand makes its way onto the small of my back.

By the time the lights come on Minerva is across the room, outwardly showing no sign that she had been touching me only moments ago. Except for the oh so subtle smirk that is curling the corners of her lips. I blush again, wondering what the hell has come over me. I turn back to the window but I am still observing her in my peripheral vision and watch as she picks up a glass and has a hearty swig of the colourless liquid contained within.

I feel like I am already in the belly of the beast and from Minerva's actions I guess that she feels the same way. All too soon we are in the Capitol itself. Stone buildings of every shape and size dominate the skyline, they are painted in bright hues of all the colours I know and several besides. The sheer scale of the city is daunting – how could wizards ever have hoped to take this muggle stronghold? Hovercraft buzz around the rooftops in a show of strength and military power.

Our train slows its furious pace and we sedately proceed into the main part of the city. Crowds begin to gather on the platforms. The people are as strange as the scenery. Their skin is dyed strange colours, hair is cut into every conceivable shape and many that are not. Strange implants jut from brows and bodies. Some of them scarcely look human, these are the people who hold my immediate future in their hands and I can barely conceal my disgust.

It must show in my posture because a sardonic drawl comes from behind me, "Smile and wave sweetheart, smile and wave." There is iron in Minerva's voice – it is not a suggestion or a request – it is an order pure and simple. I comply but I know my movements are mechanical at best, at least in this Ron beats me hands down because he is grinning like a demented farmboy on his first day at market. I plaster a more genuine fake smile on my face – I know it's an oxymoron but they are complete morons. It's that thought that makes me really smile and I do wave at them now.

* * *

I resist the urge to howl in pain. I can hear stifled cries from other rooms, ones that I am guessing contain other tributes. Minerva told me not to resist and I plan on keeping that promise. One of my female beauticians smears another layer of hot wax on my skin and rubs a strip of material into it. After a hundred repetitions I know what is coming and grit my teeth. _RRRIIIIIIPPPPP._

Another beautician is plucking my eyebrows methodically, yanking single hairs out by the roots. Yet another is cutting and buffing my nails. The Capitols insistence on perfection seems to apply even to those that they are planning to kill. The whole thing is ridiculous but again I have no choice.

"I'm glad you aren't a complainer." One of the women speaks up in a high pitched voice, "This is so much easier, we can make you look really nice now."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak without making a smart-arsed comment. At this rate I am going to be lucky to keep even the hair on my... head. Something that they have also cut and shaped. There is some foul smelling liquid soaking into my scalp but despite the stinging sensation I stay quiet. It's been hours and my stomach lets me know that it is long past midday.

After an eternity I am told to stand and they hose me off with a sweet smelling tepid water. I brace myself against a wall with my hands and ignore the indignity hoping that it will be over soon. Suddenly the liquid stopped and a harsh rush of air begins to dry my skin. Please God let it be over.

And it is. They lead me into a side room with two chairs. Obviously uncaring about my nudity they leave me there completely naked. I sit down, crossing my arms and legs. If there's one thing I hate more than any other, it is making myself vulnerable. This whole situation is designed to make me feel that way and I hate it.

The door opens and my mentor walks in. At least she is a normal person, not a surgically enhanced freak show like many of those I have seen this morning. That familiar smirk crosses her face as her eyes rake over my exposed skin. "This is hardly the time or place if you want to stare at my body."

Emerald eyes flit up to meet mine, "I'll bear that in mind. In the meantime however I thought you might want this." She held out a thin shiny looking piece of fabric. It's like a very long thin coat and I look helplessly at it for a moment. I have never seen anything like it before. Understanding dawns in Minerva's eyes. "Stand up."

I blush before doing what I am asked; while the so called beauty treatments are not transmitted to the public, I have no doubt that they are filmed and that consequently my mentor has seen me naked. To Minerva's credit her eyes do not leave mine and she keeps the smirking at a minimum. "Turn around," the command is issued in a deep husky whisper and I comply. "Hold your arms out." She slides the cool material onto my body and her fingers caress my shoulders briefly before dropping away.

I quickly wrap the fabric around me and realise that I should secure it with the attached string. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Minerva goes and sits in the chair opposite the one that I just vacated. She is as close to sober as I have ever seen her. There is a haunted look in her eyes and I want to ask her about it but I know better. "Would you like to have lunch with me?"

I nod, not quite trusting myself to speak. She leans over and presses a button. Several moments later a small hatch opens in the table and two plates lift up from within along with two glasses. I just watch her. "Hermione eat."

I roll my eyes but pick up a plate anyway; it's some kind of meat and vegetables. I have eaten half of the plateful before I realise something. "You said my name."

"Indeed." Emerald twinkles as a genuine smile reaches her eyes.

"You aren't eating." I note the fact that she is only playing with her food.

"Not really hungry."

I catch the way that she keeps glancing at the glass of fruit juice, as though wishing it were something stronger. "You're too thin." She shoots me a glare but there is no real malice in it and she does swallow a mouthful of stew. "What kind of meat is this?"

"Lamb." I shake my head blankly, not exactly sure what kind of animal a lamb is. "Sheep?" I shake my head again. "Um... a white fluffy four legged animal, farmed in District Eleven."

"Oh. Like a cow?"

"Kind of but much much smaller."

Our education at school is mainly related to subjects that will help us in our district; even mathematics is structured around coal and coal mining. Knowledge of other districts is discouraged and even forbidden. The Capitol are terrified that we will rebel again, it's stupid really - even when wizarding kind trained in magic we could not defeat them. We would be wiped out but they still prohibit travel between districts and the only time we mix with each other is at the games. Divide and conquer, there's a reason why it's the oldest trick in the book. "Oh." I've lost what little interest in the topic that I ever had.

"This afternoon you will meet with Kingsley, your stylist." I'm learning to read the nuances in Minerva's speech and there is a subtle emphasis on the mans name. She is trying to tell me something about him.

I lean back into my chair and lift the glass to my lips, perhaps close observation will tell me more. "Then what?"

"Then he will provide you with a costume for the parade this evening. He will also instruct you on how to react, how to... behave."

I'm carelessly slumped into the chair, for all the world looking barely interested but I know my eyes betray how intently I am hanging onto every word. Kingsley is a man to be trusted, at least up into a point. His input will help me and I am to do what he tells me.

"You should also take care to show your friendship with young Mr Weasley."

I can't help it, I raise an eyebrow. Ronald Weasley and I are not friends, we could have been – his actions saved my family but the rest of our history has proven that altruism is the exception rather than the rule in terms of his behaviour. He seemed to think that giving me bread would entitle him to sexual favours. At best I view him with disgust.

Minerva clears her throat decisively and her eyes glint with determination. Her last words were not a suggestion, nor is she unaware of the history that I share with the other tribute. There is more going on here than meets the eye. The promise I made to trust her this morning rings in my head and I nod.

"After the parade, you will be shown to your quarters in the tower." The ebony haired woman stands with the innate grace that she possesses, one that even inebriation cannot hide.

"Will we have chance to talk later?" I put emphasis into my own words, wanting to know if we will get a chance to speak privately without surveillance.

"Count on it." She sends me another hard look before leaving the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: Sorry about the delay, I'm just not in the mood to do much even write. Mary has no internet at the moment, so it's unbeta'd.**

* * *

There is something about Kingsley that instantly reassures me. It could be his soft spoken voice or the aura of calmness that he exudes. Or perhaps it was the way that he rushed in to shake my hand. "Your actions at The Reaping were incredibly brave, what you did for your sister was... amazing."

"I did the right thing." In my mind it is as simple as that, "I have protected her all of my life, that was no different."

"No one else would have done it."

What he said was true, my actions were unprecedented and I know that they will have caused a stir. The replays of The Reapings that I watched last night have shown me that. At least people have already noticed me – if Minerva is right that simple fact may be enough to provide me with a chance of survival.

"So what are you going to dress me in?" Every year the Tributes are dressed in costumes that represent their districts. Some of the outfits managed to look sexy or dangerous but ours just tend to look sad, there is only so much that even the most talented designer can do with a coal mining theme. Kingsley's predecessor had a fondness for naked young men and women covered with coal dust. I can feel myself shudder at the thought.

"I have something quite special in mind for you both this year. Ron's designer and I have both been working very hard on these. We want you to make another big impression during the chariot ride."

When he reveals his plan I am awestruck not only by his talent but also by his bravery and daring. Kingsley's design is a leather suit with artificial flames erupting from the very fabric. It's closer to magic than anyone in The Capitol normally cares to get. It looks almost real and so much better than anything that I have ever seen at a Tribute Parade. Providing that Ron and I do not burn to death, we will certainly make an impact.

Once I am dressed he leads me down through the building towards the stables, all the while Minerva's words from earlier are ringing through my head. She obviously knew what Kingsley had in mind for our outfits but while would she tell me to be visibly friendly with the Weasley boy? It's a complete mystery to me.

After several minutes we reach a large circular room. Within it are twenty four Tributes, their mentors and stylists. Two horses are harnessed to each of twelve chariots, ours are large and black – all the better to complement our outfits. Minerva is leaning next to a red '12' and I know that she has something more to say. As subtly as possible I make my way across the room to her side.

"Remember what I said?"

"About him?" I nod in the direction of my fellow tribute, "Yes but I don't fully understand."

"Look around you."

My eyes flash around the room and I notice something strange. Not one tribute is talking to another, even those from District One and Two who are already in their chariots together. All of them ignore each other almost as though the Games have already started and they are at war. The slightest show of friendship between Ron and I would be a vast contrast. I find myself nodding, "I understand."

"Good. Now remember to be nice, enthusiastic and wave at everyone." I nod again and her hands wrap around my waist, lifting me up and into the vehicle. "Good luck."

A lot of time must have passed while I was looking into her emerald green eyes because five chariots have already left through the gate. She gives me another shove towards Ron and then we are moving. The last thing that I want to do at this stage is leave her side, Minerva seems to be the only constant in my life at the moment – even Dawn and Harry seem far away, like a distant memory.

The horses step quickly through the doorway and towards the parade route. They have been well trained and drilled – the animals will not deviate in either path or speed. We are in a narrow concrete culvert, surrounded by high walls on both sides but I can already hear the crowd even at that distance. It sounds almost like they are baying for our blood.

I glance into Ron's eyes and move slightly closer to him. As the chariot moves out into the light our hands move as one to the buttons that will ignite our outfits. The gasp that rises from the crowd is immense and they begin to yell louder. It's beyond deafening; louder than a winter avalanche, more intense than summer thunderstorms.

The fake smile is plastered firmly on my face as my eyes dart around. The crowd is full of people, just as freakish as those I saw earlier on the day, they are clapping and cheering at me... or rather at what Kingsley has made of me. The cenotaph in front of the parade ground is visible in the distance and it catches my eye before I see something else familiar in my peripheral vision – my face. Ron and I are on the large screens that line the route, something that normally only briefly focuses on tributes from outlying districts before returning to the favourites.

True to Minerva's prediction, at this moment the entire world is focussed on us. The underdogs from District Twelve and we need to keep their attention. I reach down and grab Ron's sweaty palm, raising our joined hands to the sky. Neither of us is likely to survive the week but I want them to remember this moment – the time when we declared that we will not bow to fear.

All of the tributes assemble in an atrium at the base of a tower. True to form most of the other districts are openly hostile, tonight District Twelve just outshone them and it was the last thing that they ever expected. Conversation ceased and we were met with glares, firstly from a blonde boy standing beside an older blonde man and the other career tributes followed suit.

"Very nice." A familiar drawl comes from beside me. "Nice... touch sweetheart." It's sarcasm at its best.

A glance shows me that Minerva is standing right next to me. "Are you sure that you should be standing this close to an open flame?"

Our eyes meet in an intense fiery contact, something sparking between us.

"Fake flame." Her words are cutting but without malice, it's an automatic response to any questions about her drinking. "Are you sure that you should..?" Aware of our audience she pauses, "Let's go upstairs."

Ron and Evvie move in the direction of the lifts, we follow but I take a moment to lean closer to my mentor, "I thought you'd never ask."

Unbelievably she actually growls, low and soft. "Careful or I might take you up on that offer." I just smile, more relaxed now that we are moving away from the other tributes. Inwardly however my mind is racing with possibilities. It's still a mystery why this woman enthrals me one moment and can make me want to hit her the next. She's snarky and infuriating but it's a facade, one I am only now starting to recognise.

We step into the lift and take up position behind the others. Minerva leans against a wall and crosses her arms. Evvie is babbling about us having the penthouse to stay in and Ron is hanging on her every word. Like my mentor I am ignoring her. The small car rockets upwards and feels like no sensation that I have ever experienced. The excitement must be written all over my face because a smirk crosses the thin lips of the woman observing me.

Minerva's body is so close that I can feel the heat from her skin. It's uncharacteristic but I cannot resist the urge to touch her. The backs of my fingers graze the soft fabric covering her hip and I see something indefinable flash through emerald eyes. She smiles and for once it is not a smirk or a grin but a genuine smile – albeit it small and fleeting. In that moment she looks less careworn and tired.

The lift stops and I pull my hand back before Evvie can catch us. The doors open onto a an opulent room that is incredibly large, several seating areas and a dining table still leave it mostly empty. I could run laps around the ornate marble floor. That annoying voice rings out again, "Your rooms are through there, why don't you both go and freshen up before dinner."

* * *

I leave the dinner table early and go to my room. Minerva had just spoken about hiding whatever our main skills might be – until the individual assessments. It goes against every instinct and everything I have ever learnt, without my bow I always feel naked. And I do not like feeling vulnerable. Unfortunately I have promised to listen to whatever my mentor says.

For perhaps an hour I stand at the window, watching the lights of the huge city. From this height they look like ants, scurrying around on incomprehensible errands. My room is in darkness, allowing me to see through the glass – which is why I notice the door open and close immediately afterwards, despite the stealth of the intruder.

Minerva's reflection draws closer to me and she stands behind my shoulder meeting my gaze in the glass - for the longest time she says nothing. For the second time today her hand finds the small of my back. "You need to get some sleep."

"So do you." I lean against the window and press my forehead to the cool glass. My inner temperature has sharply risen again in response to the touch. "What did I miss?"

"Not a lot, Mr Weasley wanted to know why the tributes from One and Two were glaring at you both."

"Careers, right?" My voice is bitter and I know it.

"Tell me about them."

"Volunteered by their parents and trained in special academies. The best two in their seventh year step forward in place of untrained tributes. It would be altruistic, if they were not after winning."

"And win they do... almost every single year. By the time that they get here they are pretty much lethal." Another step closer, I cannot feel the warmth of her body yet but the electricity arcing between us is making me feel lightheaded. "But they are arrogant and arrogance can be a weakness."

It's a warning. "I'm not arrogant, I'm self-assured."

Minerva chuckles, "Keep telling yourself that sweetheart." The heat from her breath stirs the hair at the base of my neck and ignites a fire deep inside of me. My temperature skyrockets and I lean against the cooling glass, trying to quench the feelings that the older woman has stirred up.

"Why do they lose?" I've completely lost interest in the conversation that we are having but I am not ready to address the deeper issue of what is happening between us.

"Traditionally when careers loose it is because they lack survival skills, something that you have in spades." Her hand comes to rest on the small of my back for the second time today. "They tend to pack up and take out weaker tributes, while leaving their supplies unguarded."

"And that's the key?"

"Uh huh. Are you alright, you are practically hyperventilating?" Minerva takes a final step closer, bringing our bodies a fraction of an inch away from touching.

"Yeah." The single word is choked out, I am pretty sure that I would not be able to piece together a sentence if I tried.

My mentor chuckles and places a hand either side of my head, supporting her weight as she brings her lips to my ear. "Are you sure? I can feel you trembling."

Something deep within me prompts me to turn around and slowly I comply. Minerva gives me room to move but does not step back or lower her hands. Ultimately I end up within the circle of her arms pressed against the window. A moment passes before I dare to raise my head and meet her gaze. Her emerald eyes are darker than I can ever remember seeing them and there is something in them that makes my head spin.

I hear my name whispered and it makes me smile. She rarely uses it and it sounds good coming from her lips. Minerva returns the gesture warmly without her normal sardonic edge. Her next words cut to the core of my confusion. "May I kiss you?"

Before I can even think of a response my head is nodding. Heartbreakingly slow my mentor lowers her face to mine. Anticipation rushes through my veins and I feel as though I am about to faint. When her lips finally touch mine I gasp. She is surprisingly gentle, coaxing me into responding. My hands grasp her hips and pull her even closer. Minerva chuckles into the kiss and begs entry to my mouth with a delicate motion of her tongue.

It's the most incredible thing I have ever experienced. And at the same time it makes me more than sad because in just a few days this interlude will be over. I will be fighting for my life and chances are I'm going to die. Right then I shock the hell out of Minerva by bursting into floods of hysterical tears.


End file.
